Seeking vodka in wine country

There are still parts of France that can surprise if you make the effort

France beyond the cliches is not too hard to find, if you look for it. Photo: Raj Aditya Chaudhuri

On the last evening of my trip to the countryside just outside of Cognac, I decided to take one more bike ride. The evening before I had struggled with my ‘vintage’, back-pedal-to-brake hipster-mobile and as a result, my first ride had been quite uncomfortable and brief. This time I was determined to do better.

I pedalled out of Juillac-Le-Coq, the sleepy village I was staying at, 15km south of Cognac, smack bang in the heart of French spirit-making industry. With no maps to guide me on this bike trip I set out north.

The view from my room in Juillac-Le-Coq. Photo: Raj Aditya Chaudhuri

I rode till country roads gave way to slightly busy village streets that then turned in to a marginally bottom-clenching dual carriageway. But the scenery was serene, the weather glorious and with the wind in my back, I just kept going. I lost track of how far I had come till the road signs told me I was nearing Cognac. I was getting tired and the fact that even if I turned back now, I would have to ride another 20km to get back was not lost on me.

Just then as if in a dream-like mise-en-scène, two weird-looking aircraft buzzed by overhead. I had been hearing whispers about a ‘secret’ air force base somewhere close by but these were not modern, high-altitude jets. This engine note was definitely pre-War. And just as suddenly as they had appeared, they vanished behind me. I pulled over to see where they went and as I got off my bike, the two aircraft roared by again, with a loud burst, doing tricks straight above my head. I pulled over to the side of the road to take in this unexpected show, almost like it had been put on just for my benefit. Traffic flowed by unperturbed by the two WWII Spitfires performing low-flying 360-degree flips in perfect unison, just above a sea of vineyards. The sun, seemingly in on the plot too, started setting just then, giving off the most golden of hues, adding to the romance of the moment. What an unexpected bonus this had been.

At the home of the Goose

And ‘unexpected’ had been the theme of my trip to Bordeaux till that serendipitous moment so why should this bike ride be any different? This seemingly nondescript part of the Nouvelle-Aquitaine region has many feathers in its cap. Bordeaux and Cognac need no introduction, but I wasn’t there for wine or cognac. I had instead gone against the grain and stayed at a manor that is the spiritual home of Grey Goose vodka.

Tasting spirits at Grey Goose HQ. Photo: Raj Aditya Chaudhuri

Yes, vodka. It was here at Le Logis, learning about distillation processes for vodka as well as cognac from Francois Thibault that I found out the importance of the rose bush to a vineyard. As we walked around the estate, the cellar master and creator of the Grey Goose brand stopped by a bush in full bloom and lingered. He wasn’t just admiring the flowers. Rose bushes are very delicate and sensitive to weather changes, so they act as a sort of indicator for bad weather. If a rose bush starts showing changes today, you can expect those weather changes to impact the vines in about three days, Thibault explained. If that isn’t casual French elegance in action, I don’t know what is.

Fish with some vintage

It wasn’t just Juillac-Le-Coq that had its secret, charming ways. Just north of the village is Gensac-la-Pallue, another one of the 30,000 such quaint villages with around 150 or so residents that dot the French countryside. This particular hamlet is built around a stark-looking cathedral with red doors. But tucked away behind the church is the town’s gem so well hidden that even when you get to Yann LaFond’s unassuming home, there is little to suggest that it is from here that this salt-of-the-earth kind of guy supplies the best restaurants in the region—some even with little stars under their names—with the freshest red-spotted and rainbow trout and caviar.

LaFond and his beloved sturgeon. Photo: Raj Aditya Chaudhuri

LaFond showed me around his farm, picking out tiny, leathery sturgeon, handling it with an ease that shows that his piscean relationship isn’t a new love. He tells me that sturgeon live a long life—“a 100 or so years old”—producing caviar that will uplift many a dry, tasteless cracker. His fish farm is here for much the same reason that the spirit-making industry favours this part of France: the water. The stream that flows under the house and fills the tanks where he keeps his fish, comes from deep underground. This is why the water temperature always stays at an even 18C. If you stop by here, do not forget to pick up some French caviar to wash down with your French vodka!

Liquid gold

On my final morning I head to Cognac for a more traditional tour of this spirit-loving region. You smell the heritage the moment you walk through the gates of Chateau de Cognac. It is caked on the walls of the damp, cold medieval palace like soot. What my nose picked up is the angels’ share, my guide tells me. While this region produces around 175 million bottles of cognac every year to supply a global demand, around 24 million bottles worth of cognac evaporates from the oak drums during the ageing process. Only the French could romanticise the waste of perfectly good cognac like this, I think to myself. And the angels don’t just go for the house brand, it turns out. They have also been dipping in to the Jay Z’s barrels of D’USSÉ Cognac that is aged in these cellars. So I guess he now has 99+1 problems to contend with.

Inside the Chateau de Cognac cellar. Photo: Raj Aditya Chaudhuri

Set on the banks of the placid Charente, the Chateau itself is a thing of wonder. Built in the 11th century to repel Viking and English invasions, it witnessed the birth of Francis I, the 16th century king of France. Since the late 18th century, this stately building has been in the ownership of the family of Jean-Baptiste Antoine Otard. Saved from execution after the French Revolution, the baron re-invented himself as a manufacturer of cognac and today, Otard or Chateau de Cognac, is the only building within the city limits that still houses fully functional cellars to age cognac.

After a quick tasting, it was 11am after all, I headed for a meal at a 110-year old, traditional-looking brasserie called Le Coq d’Or, off Avenue Victor Hugo on a little roundabout called Place François 1er. It was a beautiful day and the ground floor of the restaurant had its glass doors open so I decided to go native and people-watch from my outdoor table as I pecked at my plate of charcuterie between sips of sauvignon blanc. My server was this attractive young girl who spoke English and French with an accent that didn’t seem quite right. I picked up a conversation and found out that she was from Argentina. She had fallen in love, many moons ago, with this charming Frenchman while on holiday and their inter-continental love had brought her to Cognac.

And till the very end of my trip, this region had been nothing I had expected. The sights I had seen didn’t belong in my minds’ image of wine country, the spirit I had drunk the most of was neither wine nor cognac, the fish delicacy I had savoured is most famously associated with Russia, and the interesting people I had met weren’t even French. Maybe this is the France you encounter when you’re not treading the path that leads from Laduree to the Louvre.

Le Logis is the home of Grey Goose Vodka. For reservations look on www.brownandhudson.com; €1,246 or Rs88,000 per person for a two-day visit.

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